


What Contessa Saw (and Did)

by xbritomartx



Series: The LBD-verse [3]
Category: Parahumans Series - Wildbow
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2018-03-10
Packaged: 2019-03-29 16:28:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13930866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xbritomartx/pseuds/xbritomartx
Summary: Five companion pieces to CPericardium's "Rebecca Comes at the End."





	What Contessa Saw (and Did)

“You’re saying you can get my cousin out of Iraq?”

Contessa weighed her obligations for the coming fortnight against the time and effort required to resolve the situation Hana presented. Finish the current job, conduct surveillance on the next target, spend enough hours in the chemistry lab to not get fired, maintain availability for Foster Mother, attend classes, complete her homework, pass her midterms . . .

“I can assist, yes,” she said.

Hana’s already clenched fists tightened. “You’re lying,” she said. “Or joking. Not sure which would be worse.”

“I know someone who can influence the generation of special immigrant visas,” Contessa said patiently. “Someone who owes me a favor.”

“Who do you know with that kind of power?” Hana demanded. “A Congressman?”

“He’s not in Congress,” Contessa said.

“Haven’t you been listening? The number of visas for translators was slashed by _Congress_ ,” Hana said. “So unless you know someone _else_ who makes the rules . . .”

Contessa shrugged. “Those who enforce rules have more power than those who make them. You can _say_ ‘we’re not going to give any more visas,’ but unless _everyone_ who can grant a visa agrees _every_ time . . .”

“Let’s suppose I believe you,” Hana said. “What makes you think he’ll do that for you? For me?”

“I did something for him once,” she said. “Just as I’m offering to do something for you now.”

“And later you’ll ask me to do something. Something that might be against the rules _I_ will be supposed to follow for _my_ job.”

“Potentially.”

Hana unconsciously fidgeted with the velcro American flag on her right shoulder. “What’s that going to be?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” Contessa said. “I won’t know until it comes up. I’ll remember where you are, and I’ll think about your situation every time I need something. See if you’re a good fit for the task.”

“I’m not going to do anything wrong,” Hana said.

“I’ll ask this man to make and then not notice a paperwork error. That’s not _wrong_.”

The other girl was silent for long enough that Contessa checked her watch. She had to leave now or risk missing her rendezvous with Philip. “I’ve something else to attend to. Yes or no?”

Hana hesitated.

“Yes,” she said.

Contessa nodded and returned to the dormitory she’d left barely twenty minutes before. On her way up the stairs, she called Philip to inform him she was running behind schedule.

He was unhappy.

“Contessa, we _cannot_ be late,” he said. “We can’t afford to piss this guy off. Not again. I _want_ my arms to remain fixed to my torso.”

“It won’t take me long,” she said, trying to sound reassuring. “I just have to collect a phone number from my room.”

“Okay, maybe _you_ don’t want to remain intact, but I like having the lower parts of my femurs attached to the upper parts!”

The delay wouldn’t affect their ability to complete the job, but she didn’t argue. Sharing his worries was important to him, so she let him talk about how unpleasant he thought being rent limb from limb by angry gangsters would be even as she unlocked her door and walked to her desk.

As she tuned out his voice, a host of other noises intruded on her awareness. A series of squelches, underpinned by a constant mechanical hum and punctuated by soft human moans.

She snapped around.

Rebecca was _not_ in her geography class. She was also not studying at the library, or trying to preserve culture at the museum, or running around with that group of cape-wearing weirdos, or anywhere but _here_ , more than half-naked and splayed across her own bed, and, and—

Contessa’s mind whited out. She’d known about her roommate and her black bag of _gadgets_ , of course.  She’d even seen the _thing_ Rebecca was using twice before, once in her initial sweep of the room and once in her more thorough search.

At the time, she hadn’t seen the point.

Now she saw so very much more.

Not just what the slick device was gliding in and out of—how could something so long fit so easily over and over—or what her other hand was roving over—did she never wear a bra—but how wholly Rebecca had surrendered to the moment, the unself-conscious abandon with which she yielded to her senses.

“ _Oh_ —”

Contessa flinched. Being startled had accelerated her heart rate and she was on edge.

“C-contessa,” Rebecca said, opening her eyes.

Contessa boggled. How could Rebecca just start talking in the middle of—that? Was this normal for her, and had she simply decided to dispense with formality now that they’d been living together for two months? Were the throes of self-stirred passion going to be a possible context for any future conversation?

Rebecca’s hand came to rest. The glazed look in her eyes dissipated as her breathing calmed, and after a blink or two in both Contessa’s direction and that of her own extremities, was replaced by utter horror.

In an instant, the absolute openness was gone, replaced by absolute embarrassment. Self-consciousness descended as would a shutter, suddenly as complete in its presence as it had been in its absence.

Contessa realized she was staring and closed her eyes, kicking herself for being so easily distractible. It wasn’t even the first time she’d encountered a similar situation: she’d tailed more than one exhibitionist, and it wasn’t as though blackmail-worthy photographs of targets in compromising positions took themselves. Nor was her experience limited to strangers; she walked in on Philip and his worthless companion rutting so frequently, she was convinced Jacob required an audience.

And Philip! He was still on the phone she still had to her ear, still talking. “Contessa? Are you there? Hello? Hey!”

“I’ll call you back in five,” she informed him, and hung up without waiting for a response. It would doubtlessly call for an explanation she wouldn’t give— _couldn’t_ give, not without setting Rebecca up for mockery.

Behind her, Rebecca was screaming and thrashing around in her bed. Not loudly enough that the high-pitched whir wasn’t still plainly audible.

Contessa put a hand over her eyes, which were still closed, as though doubly shielding them could erase the intrusion.

“Get out,” Rebecca said, and then turned it into a chant. “Get out, get out!”

 _I’m trying_.

The buzzing mercifully came to an end.

“Rebecca,” she said, as firmly as she could manage, “next time use the security chain!”

“You _break_ the security chain all the time!”

Contessa wasn’t sure how “once a fortnight, and only under pressing circumstances” had morphed into “all the time” in Rebecca’s head.

“Learn to knock!”

Contessa refrained from pointing out that Rebecca had been too lost to the material world to have heard a knock, but navigating an encoded rolodex blind was hard enough without adding the complication of multitasking.

“Why are you still here!” The way she shouted it made it clear it was _not_ a question, and that finally nettled Contessa. How was this _her_ fault? Rebecca should have rented a hotel room.

“Why are _you_?” she shot back. “I just need—”

“ _Get out!_ ”

She found the card identifying the man whose information she was looking for—the ninth person underneath S, for State (Department of), and tore it free. She fled the room, practically slamming the door behind her.

Once free from the scene of Rebecca’s crime, she didn’t get very far. She stooped over, placed her palms on her knees to brace herself.

Of all the times for the now vexingly familiar aching in her lower abdomen to strike . . . Stupid. She’d never had indigestion before coming to college, but it seemed to be getting worse, exponentially increasing in frequency no matter how many things she removed from her diet.

The door beside her locked.

A few seconds later, the damnably neglected safety chain slid into place.

Thirty seconds after _that_ , Contessa heard the sound of something heavy being slowly pushed across the floor.  Eventually it came to a rest on the other side of the door. Judging by the sound of things, Rebecca had barricaded the door with her desk.

It was likely the first time in her life she’d taken reasonable precaution to protect her privacy.

Contessa waited to stand while the cramping dulled to less frequent twinges and eventually pass. As she texted Philip to tell him she was coming (now ten minutes late), she decided not to explain why she’d hung up on him; she’d imply the situation Hana had brought to attention had required more time than necessary. If he tried to protest, she’d redirect him by talking about how he was always letting Jacob interfere with their plans.

She should have spent the eight-minute walk to his car calling her contact on Hana’s behalf; instead, she tried to puzzle out why Rebecca had only seemed to notice her _after_ saying her name.


End file.
